


les marcheurs

by orphan_account



Category: Les Twins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In a different world, Larry and Laurent find some peace.
Relationships: Larry Bourgeois/Laurent Bourgeois
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	les marcheurs

The rain in the night had left the woods green and damp. Through the dirty glass of the back window of the Jeep, Laurent inspected the trees for movement, but the morning was silent and still. He turned back to their heap of blankets, to Larry, asleep on his side, and crouched down to brush his thumb over his cheekbone. “It’s morning, frèrot.”

Larry’s eyelids fluttered. Laurent hated the tiredness in the lines of his face, but, gently, he put a hand under his head and drew him up, into his arms. His eyes opened, and he soothed him, “It’s me, it’s me.”

Larry’s body softened against him, and he slumped on Laurent’s shoulder, rubbing his eyes. “I was dreaming,” he said. His voice was scratchy with sleep. “Do we have water?”

“No. But we go out in an hour.”

Larry breathed out slowly through his nose. “O.K.,” he said.

“You slept well.”

“Yeah.”

Laurent nosed at his hair in its tight cornrows. When he pulled away Larry was smiling, reaching out to touch Laurent’s matching braids. He said impulsively, “I miss your twists.”

“Yeah. Me too. I miss your afro.”

“You don’t miss my twists?”

“You looked like a girl. You’re too beautiful.”

He couldn’t help his smile. “We look the same.”

“You never said that. You said you like my face more.”

He poked Larry’s cheek. “I like your face because it’s yours.”

Larry caught his hand. He bowed his head and kissed his knuckles, and – “Larry—“, he began to say, and Larry said,

“I know.”

He was still holding Laurent’s hand.

*

In the evening they sat cross-legged in the small floorspace, and Laurent told him about the watch, while Larry, his gaze turned down, traced with his fingers on the matting the shadows of the branches outside.

“Larry?” he said at last. “Are you too tired?”

He looked up. “No. Sorry, baby.” He touched Laurent’s knee, lightly. Then he leaned in to close the small distance between them, and brushed their mouths together. And Laurent – for never in his life had he pushed Larry away, denied him any touch – accepted it. The brush of lips. The kiss.

Larry drew back, wearing the blank expression he used to hide his feelings. In the evening sunlight he looked like a smooth, bronze statue.

“Lau,” he said, and very air between them seemed to be composed of his saying it. 

Laurent touched his cheek. He leaned in and kissed his temple, and then his cheek, and then the corner of his mouth. Larry lifted his chin, baring his throat, and so he kissed him there too, and in the hollow between his collarbones, feeling the movement as he swallowed. And then in the soft place beneath the corner of his jaw, Laurent found his pulse, close to the skin.

When he drew back, Larry’s mouth was parted. He was beautiful, so beautiful that Laurent reached up to run his thumb across the swell of his bottom lip. He leaned in again, and Larry tilted his head, and their noses touched, and they were kissing, again, easily, as if it was natural, as if it was right, the only right thing in the world. Larry pressed close to him, and Laurent’s hands instinctively found his waist. The heat between their bodies burned in all the places they were touching, and Laurent rocked his hips deliberately upwards, feeling Larry’s back arch under his hands. He was practically in Laurent’s lap, a hot, sweet, heavy weight.

Laurent stroked his sides, and Larry breathed into his neck, said, “Should we—”

“Stop?”

“Yeah.”

Laurent pressed his fingers under the waistband of his boxers. “What do you need, my brother?”

Larry shivered against him. “This.”

“Then no.”

Larry let him, with a hand to his chest, push him gently down onto the floor. He let him pull off his T-shirt, unbuckle his belt, and slide him out of his jeans.

Laid out in front of him, naked apart from his black boxers, the edges of his braids glowing in the half-light, he was so fucking gorgeous that Laurent felt, like a presentiment, the chill of loss. He felt tears pricking, and perhaps Larry knew, because he reached for him, and as he crawled on top of him to kiss him, Larry cradled his head, and he lost himself, slowly, in the way their hips rolled together.

In the bathrooms of hotel rooms, he had almost thought about this – letting the images in without acknowledging them. Strange, when so much had been lost, that this had survived.

He moved to kiss Larry’s chest, and Larry groaned at the loss of the slow grind between their bodies.

“Quiet.” He tongued in turn each of the pebbled nipples, and saw Larry’s throat work. He murmured,

“Shirt.”

Laurent pulled it over his head and returned to kiss a line all the way down the hot, silky skin of his stomach, all the way down to the cotton covering the flat space between his hipbones, where he mouthed through the fabric at the shape of his dick. As Larry’s thighs tensed, he slid down the boxers, and kissed the slick head – engorged, tinged with pink: Larry’s dick was exactly like his. And so it wasn’t quite so strange for Laurent to take him in his mouth.

Larry’s hips jerked upwards. He forced him down with a hand on his thigh. The size and heat of him were overwhelming. But he wanted it – to take him all the way down, to feel him. He forced himself to open his throat, and Larry’s dick slid inside, filling his mouth. He wrapped his free hand around the base. Larry’s dick was completely enclosed, and as if from far away, he heard him moan. The sound vibrated through him, and he sucked hard, and then gagged, and then Larry’s hand was at his jaw, guiding him up.

They kissed, Larry pliant, his mouth opening to his tongue. Their legs tangled, Larry’s ankles over his calves, their bare feet brushing, Larry’s dick dragging slickly between their bodies.

Larry’s hands began to work down his sweatpants and he kicked them off. Then he was palming him through his boxers. Laurent bucked into his hand, and Larry pulled the boxers down and took him in his hand, skin to skin. He was staring at him, his eyes very black. His lips were swollen and flushed pink, and just parted, and he worked Laurent’s dick in long, slow strokes, swiping his thumb over the head each time – the way he must like it too. Laurent watched the perfect slide of his fingers and felt the fire in his stomach curling, growing hotter and hotter, rising up like something born from ashes, like a phoenix.

“Larry,” he said – and Larry looked into his eyes.

They kissed again, softly, open-mouthed. He pushed Larry’s hands away so that he could wrap his own hand around both their dicks. Then they were sliding against each other, and Larry’s head was on his shoulder, and the heat in the places they touched was –

“Don’t stop,” said Larry. His hand found Laurent’s wrist, and, on the next stroke, he came in thick spurts all over Laurent’s hand.

Laurent pulled his head down to his chest, and stroked him through it, until he was trembling. For a few moments he remained there, the grooves between his braids accommodating Laurent’s fingers.

Then he pulled away, and pushed him down onto the matting, on his back. His hands on Laurent’s hips, he dipped his head to take the sensitized tip of his dick into the velvet heat of his mouth. Laurent touched his jaw, and he hollowed his cheeks, and, sucking on him, took an inch, two inches, half of his length.

His stomach tightened again. “Larry,” he managed, intending to warn him. He was on the edge, and when Larry slid mostly off to lick at his pre-come, the sight of him was too much. Laurent came silently, half in his mouth and half on his chin, and when he could see clearly again, he found Larry’s head still resting on his stomach, one side of his mouth painted with white stripes of come.

Laurent found his discarded shirt and wiped him clean, as tenderly as a mother.

Now they kissed chastely – an exchange of breaths.

Then, with an effort, he pushed Larry off him and sat up, and knelt to run his T-shirt under the tap in the tiny sink. He cleaned up, while Larry rested heavily against his shoulder. Then he gathered the rest of the clothes and stuffed the pile into the plastic bag they used for washing, and let himself fall back onto the pile of blankets. He pulled Larry down beside him, and for a long moment Larry lay on his side, looking at him, before he rolled onto his back. His pupils no longer dilated, his eyes were brown again. Laurent pulled one of the blankets up to cover both of them.

Beneath the coarse wool, Larry took his hand.

It was almost dark now. Like this, in the safety of the Jeep with Larry beside him, he felt that he could go on living.

“I love you,” Larry said.

Laurent turned his head to kiss his shoulder, feeling the tiny bumps and lines of his tattoos under his lips. Already, he was falling into sleep. “I love you too,” he said, in his head – then, catching himself, out loud. And then he was asleep.

Fin.


End file.
